Boxmeer

Well, I finally made it to Boxmeer.  This city has been harder to organize because there are no hostels, and I couldn't connect with any couchsurfing hosts.  So I just showed up, and found a hotel to stay at for a night.  Although its way over budget, it's timing is perfect.  After days of grubby and gross hostels, I finally feel like I can take a shower and actually get clean.  Even after dancing all night, I still felt cleaner than the bathroom at my last hostel.  

Boxmeer has a curious place in this trip.  It was the home of the Bos part of my family for many generations.  Lena Bos was my grandfather's, Merrill Dietz's, mother.  She was emotionally disturbed, and her illness has arguably been handed down to her descendants, as it was to her.  I thought this would be an important place to visit.

Coming here, I didn't know much about the place.  It is a small rural town.  My initial impression is that of flatness, both in geography and character.  This area is made of small farms interspersed with residences.  It's basically small town Netherlands.  Literally every house is made of the same brown bricks, with the exact same finishing.  Every yard is groomed and boring.  Every street is empty and clean.  It's like no one lives here.  Every single adult I walk past is grimacing.  Obviously, order is very important here.  No surprise, we are right next to the German border.  And no fucking surprise someone would go crazy here, this place is a spiritual ghetto.  Pretty much the opposite of Ireland, where the land is still very much alive with magic.  This place has been effectively paved over for a long time.

Repeat this for miles and miles:

After walking for a bit, I made it to the old town church, where my ancestors would have been married and buried.  Very clean and locked:

To me, endless sterility:

I sat down in the graveyard, took my shoes off, and began to pray and make offerings.  And as I did, I felt myself and the place open up to each other.  There was a deep sense of sadness.  What I heard was that I should celebrate life in all it's forms.  I drank a beer and sat with that for a while.

On my way back, I started seeing little red poppies growing broadcast in the occasional untended spots.  I really felt they were a good omen.  To me, they represent some of the artistic, beautiful, mysterious and healing aspects of the feminine.  So a sign of hope poking up through the cracks.

Shortly thereafter, I saw this:

A good sign, in every way!

After a few hours of walking, I returned to town.  As it turns out, there was a big carnival going on this weekend.  This serious and sedate town had come out to celebrate.  Right now, there are kids yelling their heads off, riding roller coasters, while the adults are all getting drunk in the street outside my hotel.  Definately an interesting day.